


Hear Me

by the_haven_of_fiction



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 10:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_haven_of_fiction/pseuds/the_haven_of_fiction
Summary: Modern AU Professor Tom is away for the night and receives a distressed call from his wife.





	Hear Me

**Author's Note:**

> Same characters from See Me. Contains use of “Daddy” and things of that nature. Non-explicit shenanigans. Is “Literary Phone Sex” a thing in fiction? I dunno. You have been warned.

He was reaching for his phone to text her a goodnight kiss when her ringtone filled the hotel room.

“There is something skittering in the walls!” she Snoopy wailed before his greeting was complete. “Get back here right this instant and fulfill your wedding vows!”

He smiled at the sincere panic in her voice, feeling like it was disloyal but unable to stop it.  Her fear of the creepy crawlies, as she called them, was something he learned rather quickly about her.  She’d gone as far as to include it in their wedding ceremony, inspiring the same kind of smiles from those in attendance who were familiar with her long-standing aversion.

“Darling, as much as I relish being your rescuer and as much as I am loathe to deny any request of yours, I’m afraid I am unable to directly assist you with this.”

“Then I want a divorce,” she sniffed petulantly, inspiring a chuckle that accompanied the widening of his grin. “I’ll find someone else, someone who won’t leave me helpless and undefended to go prattle on about a paper at a stupid conference.”

“Nonsense,” he replied and stretched his long legs, slouching in the chair a bit after two hours of putting the finishing touches on his lecture notes.  “You’re never helpless.  That’s what makes your chosen helplessness so appealing.  And you assured me that you were fine with my going alone.”

She huffed at him and an idea that he had formed on the flight for a possible situation just like this came to his mind. It was that perfect irritating distance, just long enough to make the trip by car too tedious and just short enough for a mere hour in the air.  They had initially planned for her to accompany him to the academic conference at which he was presenting the following morning.  A surprise visit from a dear cousin she hadn’t seen in a couple of years had altered that.

It was their first overnight separation and they were both surprised at the degree of her anxiety over it; while he was secretly proud that she had progressed to the point where the reality of being without him, even for one night, was cause her to be in such a state, he was in equal measure truly concerned for her.  Although she had protested that she didn’t mind being without him for a night, his instincts had told him otherwise.  Curiosity was high.  He was eager to know if she would actually verbalize what she was feeling, if she trusted him to respond with that balance of indulgence and tenderness that she was learning to rely on.  

“Listen to me,” he said, shifting his tone to the one that made her whole body alert and pliable, “Daddy is going to take care of his baby doll.  I want you to feel safe and get a good night’s rest so you can enjoy your visit tomorrow.  I’m going to tell you what you to do and you’re going to obey.  Yes?”

“Yes,” was the reply to his gentle prompt and he was filled with pride that there hadn’t been any hesitation on her part.

He picked up his laptop with his free hand and moved from the table to the bed, glancing at the time to figure out where she might be in the house.

“It’s almost 11, so you should be in your pajamas and heading to bed.”

She wasn’t quite sure if it was a question or not and chose to treat it as one, wanting to make it clear to him that she was fully willing to participate in this new avenue of their dynamic.

“Yes, I just got home from seeing the movie with Hallie and changed and was watching the news for a few minutes.  That’s when I heard it.”

Her voice was still shaky and the mention of the movie raised his suspicions.

“Did that monkey movie have creepy crawlies in it that bothered you?”

“It’s not a monkey, it’s an ape,” she corrected him, as if he was a first grader in her classroom.  “Didn’t you learn anything at Cambridge?”  

She was being contrary in attempt to distract herself and these flashes of brattiness were also her way of testing him, of discovering how far she could go without consequences.  He was deciding how to respond when she rushed ahead.

“And yes, it did.  Big yucky ones,” a shudder punctuating her words.  "And you weren’t there for me to turn to.“

It was said with honest distress, not with anger, and it temporarily made him put aside her previous comment.

"I’m sorry, Pop Tart.  I’m here now.”

When she inquired if he wanted to switch to a video call, he declined. 

“No, I just want you to hear me.  Only my voice,” he answered, knowing that the statement would bring up specific recent memories for her.  She tried to stifle the half moan, half whimper in vain, the sound making it clear that his plan was working.

He talked her into the bedroom, asking a few questions about the evening, checking to make sure she had eaten dinner and done her stretches.  She had pulled back the fluffy comforter on their sleigh bed and was about to climb in when his next command made her freeze.  He waited a few moments before repeating it.

“Is something wrong?  Do you understand what I’ve said?”

“I understand, sir,” spoken so softly that he almost didn’t hear it.  It was a surprise, it was a first; and it delighted him to a degree that was just as surprising.  She’d never addressed him in that manner and he had never asked her about it. Something about this particular situation must have brought it out of her.  He immediately decided that pointing it out right then in the moment wouldn’t be helpful to her and filed it away to discuss later, briefly settling on the possible explanation that using the term was a sign that she was feeling safe, that she was trusting his guidance.

“That’s how you normally sleep.  I know it might be different because I’m not there and you may be worried about having to suddenly flee from the monsters in the wall, but I think it’s important that we try to make this as routine as possible in that way,” he calmly explained.

She murmured in agreement.  When her pajamas were on the chair by the closet and she was naked between the soft cotton sheets, he told her to put him on speaker and lay the phone on his empty pillow.

“Now,” he proceeded, low and steady, “I want you to raise your arms and place them up on either side of your head.”  

He waited until the rustling stopped and she was settled comfortably before taking a deep breath and continuing.

“Hands off, darling, unless I give permission.”

This time she didn’t even bother with attempting to hide her reaction.  The frustrated groan was the sound of victory to his keen ears, as was her increasing rapid breathing.  She had assumed that certain guided activities were sure to follow and his command made her painfully aware of how intense her physical reaction was to the situation.  

Then he began his assault.

She would always be rather baffled at how his voice had such an impact on her.  It was contradictory in a way when she contemplated the qualities that made it so unique: rough but smooth, arousing but soothing, spicy but sweet.  The sound itself was enough to make anyone swoon; coupled with the specific manner of his address, it was lethal.  He never rushed, never spoke carelessly; and when it came to his beloved poetry, he was an enthusiastic expert.

It flowed from his mouth with confidence, with authority, with a passion that she periodically teased him about.  A selection of his favorites from the treasures that time has produced, lines he had read over and over to the point that reading was unnecessary. Poems in Ancient Greek whose words she did not understand, but whose sounds left her in no doubt of the message. Shakespeare, Donne, Cowper, Burns, Byron, Shelley, Rossetti…

And while she knew he recited them and poured over them day after day and semester after semester in his classroom, this was different.  This was for her.  Solely for her.  And she heard them as she never had before, heard him as she never had before.  She felt his voice as though his hands were ghosting over her skin, felt it rise and fall and wash over her, felt it dip and turn as if it led her in a swirling giddy dance.  

But when the words became new to her, tears stung her eyes.  They were new, although the poetic voice was familiar.  It was him.  His words. His poems.  

About her.

Things that made her gasp, things that made her back arch off the bed, things that made her wish she had turned out the lights.

Now she had to grip at the pillow with desperate fingers to keep herself from disobeying him, her muscles tensing, her legs moving restlessly against the sheets that were no longer cool.  Or dry.

“Hands, Pop Tart,” he reminded her sharply, interrupting himself, her every exhale escalating to a steady, panting moan.  “Are they in the proper place?”

“Ye-yes, s-sir,” she managed to stutter out on a sob.

She was almost at the breaking point when he, mercifully, seemed to be finished.

“Still with me, darling?” he asked with a casual air that absolutely infuriated her, as if she weren’t a quivering, fevered mess driven to near madness by his voice.  Just his voice.

All she could muster was a pitiful sound that he interpreted as a “yes” and he relented.

For a moment.

“I’ve got one last selection for you,” he whispered. “I’ve saved it for last.  I think it will take your breath away.”

She shut her eyes in frustration, having no idea what could possibly be left to say, and was a second away from begging him to grant her freedom so she could end things.

But his voice stopped her.

_“I am Sam.”_

_“Sam I am.”_

The hilarious combination of that panty-melting voice with the Dr.Seuss classic she read so often to her first graders had her crying with laughter by the third page.  She was wheezing when he added a gleeful “The End.”

“You see, darling?  I told you it would take your breath away,” he informed her.  “And now you may reach for some tissues, dry your face, and burrow under the covers for a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s it? But, but…I…” she stumbled over the words, her shocked protests making him chuckle.

“Yes, I know.  Life is full of disappointments.  Or denials, in your case.”

He was enjoying this entirely too much; she wanted to grab the bloody phone and hurl it across the room.  Insufferable man!

“And yes, the Hands Off rule applies until I return home.  My hands get their turn first.”

He took advantage of her stunned silence and continued.

“Maybe next time when I ask you if you’ll be okay by yourself, you’ll think of this…lesson in delayed gratification and tell me the truth.”

“You are big meanie head!  And I renew my divorce request!” she cried in bewilderment.

“I love you, too, Pop Tart,” he cooed, “Goodnight.”

“ _I do not like you, Sam I am_ ,” she grumbled and hit the End Call button with more force than was necessary.

The ding of a text alert arrived a few seconds later.

_“I heard that. xoxo”_

 


End file.
